It was a procession of elderly men in shabby suits a few were on crutches and some had lost an arm. They carried banners representing their old units. They had fought in the Chaco[285] war, and once a year, I suppose, they had this moment of pride. They looked more human than the colonels who followed them, standing upright in their cars, in dress uniforms[286] with gold tassels and epaulettes, all with black moustaches and all quite indistinguishable; the colonels looked like painted skittles waiting for a ball to bowl them over.
After an hour I had had enough of watching and walked into the centre of town, to the new skyscraper hotel, to buy an English-language newspaper, but there was only a five-day-old New York Times. A man spoke to me in a confidential voice before I went into the hotel; he had a distinguished intellectual air; he might have been a diplomat or a university professor.
After an hour I had had enough of watching and walked into the centre of town, to the new skyscraper hotel, to buy an English-language newspaper, but there was only a five-day-old New York Times. A man spoke to me in a confidential voice before I went into the hotel; he had a distinguished intellectual air; he might have been a diplomat or a university professor.
I beg your pardon, I said.
Any U.S. dollars? he asked me rapidly, and when I shook my head (for I had no desire to break any local currency laws) he walked away. Unfortunately when I emerged again from the hotel with my newspaper he was back on the opposite pavement and failed to recognize me. Any U.S. dollars? he whispered. I said no again and he glared at me with an air of disgust and disdain, as though I had been playing a childish practical joke.
I walked back towards the edge of town and my aunts house, interrupted at street corners by the tag end of processions. A palatial house covered in banners bore a number of scarlet placards; it was probably the headquarters of the Colorado Party. Stout men in city suits who sweated in the morning sun climbed up and down the wide steps wearing red scarves. One of them stopped and demanded, or so I supposed, what I wanted.
Colorado? I asked.
Yes. Are you American?
I was glad to find someone who spoke English. He had the face of an amiable bulldog, but he needed a shave.
No, I said, Im English.
He gave a short bark which did not sound amiable at all, and at that moment, perhaps because of the heat, the sun and the scent of flowers, I was overcome by a fit of sneezing. Without thinking, I drew my aunts red scarf from my breast pocket and blew my nose. It was most unfortunate. I found myself sitting on the pavement without knowing how I got there, and my nose streamed with blood. Fat men surrounded me, all of them in dark suits and all with the faces of bulldogs. Others like them appeared on the balcony of the Colorado house and looked down at me with curiosity and disapproval. I heard the word inglés repeated often, and then a policeman yanked me on to my feet. Afterwards I was to think how lucky I had been; if I had blown my nose near a group of gauchos I might well have received a knife in the ribs.
Several fat men accompanied me to the police station, including the one who had struck me. He carried my aunts scarf, the evidence of a crime. Its all a mistake, I assured him.
Mistake? His English was very limited.
At the police station a very imposing building, built to withstand a siege everyone began to speak at once with noise and fury. I felt at a loss how to behave[287]. I kept on repeating inglés without effect. Once I tried ambassador, but it wasnt in their vocabulary. The police officer was young and worried I imagine his superior officers were all at the parade. When I said inglés for the third time and ambassador for the second he hit me but without conviction a blow which hardly hurt me at all. I was discovering something new. Physical violence, like the dentists drill, is seldom as bad as one fears.
I tried mistake again, but no one could translate that word. The scarf was handed from one to another, and a patch of snot was pointed out to the officer. He picked up what looked like an identity card and waved it at me. I suppose he was demanding my passport. I said, I left it at home, and three or four people began to argue. Perhaps they were disagreeing on the meaning of what I said.
Oddly enough, it was the man who had struck me who proved most sympathetic. My nose was still bleeding and he gave me his handkerchief. It was not very clean and I feared blood poisoning, but I didnt want to reject his help, so I dabbed rather tentatively at my nose and then offered him his handkerchief back again. He waved it away with a gesture of generosity. Then he wrote something on a piece of paper and showed it me. I read the name of a street and a number. He pointed at the floor and then pointed at me and held out the pencil. Everyone pressed nearer with great curiosity. I shook my head. I knew how to walk to my aunts house, but I had no idea of the name of the street. My friend I was beginning to think of him as that wrote down the name of three hotels. I shook my head.